


Wither

by DeathValleyQueen



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Post-Season/Series 01, implied polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23844703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathValleyQueen/pseuds/DeathValleyQueen
Summary: Jaskier disappears every spring. He always has reasons and it has never seemed peculiar. But when spring arrives early one year, Yennefer begins to suspect that something is strange with Jaskier. Well, stranger than normal.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 37
Kudos: 466





	1. Wither

Jaskier disappears in spring.

It's almost like clockwork, just as the winds of winter are beginning to fade into the sweet warmth of spring, the others awake to find that Jaskier is not there. The first time, they all assume that he simply got bored and went to go make some coin in the nearest town. This assumption remains, unquestioned, for a number of years. Geralt recalls, vaguely, this was a frequent phenomenon when he first started traveling with Jaskier. It did not and does not occur to anyone in the group that there is anything strange about this. Jaskier disappears in spring and returns in summer. The seasons change, Jaskier is happily following them around like a delighted puppy and then it is spring, and he is gone again.

This year, spring comes early.

They are far from the nearest town, each on their own horse, Geralt riding up front with Ciri just behind, Jaskier in the middle, and Yennefer heading up the rear. So it is Yennefer who sees it first. 

Jaskier pulls his horse short and turns his head towards the south. Half a moment later, a warm breath of air comes through the woods. Jaskier shivers the way someone does when a goose walks over their grave. Yennefer watches him swallow hard and then something unusual happens.

She can't pinpoint the cause but Jaskier seems different. Paler, as if from the onslaught of sudden illness. His knuckles grip the reins of his horse, Borsey, tight. Because she is looking at his hands she sees some of his skin pull back from his knuckles and float off in the breeze. As it separates from the rest of him, it turns into a flower petal.

Jaskier, suddenly frantic, pulls out gloves from his pack and slips them on. By the time he's done, Yennefer has pulled up next to him. She places a perfectly neutral face on and lifts an eyebrow. "Problem, bard?"

He looks startled that she is there as if he had forgotten anyone else was around. "Yup, find. Just chilly."

"It's unseasonably warm. Are you well?" She reaches out towards his forehead, a spell already tingling on her fingers. She's going to figure our what the fuck she just saw.

Jaskier pulls on Borsey's reins and backs away from her before she can touch him. "I'm fine. Just... wondering when we are going to hit the next town. I need a break from the road."

The first day of spring is three weeks out. Jaskier is leaving earlier than ever. Jaskier is hiding something. Jaskier is always gone in the spring.

Yennefer ponders these facts as they continue to travel. She notices how Jaskier flinches at every warm breeze. She notices his eyes darting around nervously and how those nerves linger longest on Geralt. What are you hiding, little lark? Is it some seasonal illness? But what illness causes one’s skin to become flower petals? Some spell that only works in the spring? It doesn't add up.

There is still a good amount of sun up when Geralt stops and the rest pull up next to him. There's a clearing and a steady but gentle brook. "This is a good sight to set up camp for the night."

"Already?" Jaskier's voice is pitched a little higher than normal. "Couldn't we just keep going? Surely there is a town nearby?"

"Not for another day’s ride," Geralt says, sliding off of Roach. "Stop complaining, Jaskier, the taverns can wait one more night."

"Right, yes." Jaskier gets off Borsey and helps set up camp.

But Yennefer keeps a careful eye on him. She senses his unease, the way he taps his fingers restlessly against his leg during dinner. He doesn't take off his gloves until full dark, and even then, he has them under or between his thighs.

So, before everyone retires into their bedrolls, Yennefer uses the excuse of needing to relieve herself. She finds Borsey's saddle and places a very simple spell on it. Then, she returns to her bedroll, lies down, and waits.

He waits longer than she thought he would. Everyone else is full asleep by the time Jaskier crawls out of his bedroll and begins to gather his things. Yennefer waits, feigning sleep. When Jaskier has passed by, she opens her eyes and, silently, slips out of her own bedroll. She notices, as she follows him, that every few feet or so a flower petal. She plucks one off the ground and studies it. Yellow, soft, small. A buttercup. A Jaskier flower.

She feels her spell snap into place followed by a small cry. She smiles and walks the rest of the way to where Jaskier sits, his wrists bound to the saddle by mystical purple cuffs. She stands there, hands crossed over her chest. He looks at her helpless and... scared.

His arms are covered in vines, buds, and fully bloomed flowers. She sees this and knows. She lets her hands fall to her sides. "Jaskier," she says the word and then pauses. Her eyes go back to the others. She slides up another spell to give them privacy. "Jaskier," she begins again, "Why didn't you say?"

Jaskier hangs his head. His hair falls in such a way that now, yes, she can see his ears have changed. Pointed and a shade of green that reminds her of a forest floor in full bloom. Jaskier is a dryad. How had she missed this? He's named after a goddamned flower. He disappears every spring. And... gods, how long has she known him but he's never aged?

"How has Geralt never worked this out?" she says, choosing to blame the men because it is just always easier.

"It's part of the magic," Jaskier admits, folding in on himself physically and emotionally. Yennefer has only seen him this small when they first found him. She'd known that he and Geralt had fought and knew that Geralt hadn't actually apologized. Even then he was stronger than she sees him now. "If you don't see us in bloom, you never piece together what's wrong with us. You never notice we don't eat meat or that we don't age. Now that you've seen me, that's why you can put it all together. You have to let me leave, Yen. He can't see me like this."

"Why not? You're not exactly ugly like this." Which is putting it mildly. Jaskier is beautiful, a work of art in living flesh. He becomes more plantlike the longer she looks and instead of being horrifying, she finds it breathtaking. He is lovely. He has always been lovely but this is a more true version of that beauty. This is who Jaskier really is.

"I will just be another monster to him," Jaskier says. "He'll see me differently. I already lost the chance to ride beside him once. I'm not going to lose it again because my stupid withering came early."

"He's not going to kill you, Jaskier. Witchers don't kill dryads."

"I'm not worried about him killing me! Of course he won't kill me, I know him well enough to know that. But he's not going to... Look at me the same. He'll send me away. I'm valuable, wizards have used dryads for spells before. If he thinks I'll put Ciri in danger, he'll be rid of me before the next sunset."

Oh. There may be some truth in that. Geralt will absolutely not hesitate to get rid of a single threat to Ciri. And yet she has sensed something in Geralt's gaze on Jaskier. He cares more for Jaskier than he's admitted to himself. She does not know how he will react. "I still think the right thing to do is tell him. He'll be hurt worse if he finds out the same way I did."

"Please don't tell him, Yen. I'll tell him eventually but I can't--- Not like this."

It's the right thing to do. But she has spent too much time suffering under the hands of people who betrayed her because it was the right thing to do. "I won't make that choice for you, Jaskier. But you shouldn't leave tonight. The woods aren't safe alone, no matter how you look."

"They're safe for me. I don't go into town like this, Yennefer. I know the woods well enough on my own when I'm in my wither state. Please. You can tell them... something. Make them believe you, I know you can. I've never asked you for anything before but please. Just this once."

In the morning. Yennefer tells Geralt that Jaskier was starting to feel unwell and headed into the city to see a healer. No, she didn't think it was serious. Honestly, she thought it was just allergies, Geralt, I'm sure he's left word at the inn. And there is word waiting, a messenger with a note from Jaskier saying he'd found work and would catch up with them later.

She keeps his secret. And sometimes, in the woods, she catches glimpses of buttercups. She hopes he is well and knows she'll see him in the summer.


	2. Poacher

Yennefer wakes with a start, unsure what’s woken her at first. She sits up in her bedroll, checking on Ciri and Geralt. Both are sound asleep. Their horses are undisturbed. She reaches out through her magic, checking on the wards she put up before they slept. None of them have gone off. For a moment she thinks she must have dreamed something was out there. But then, just on the edge of her awareness, she feels a stirring. Whatever, whoever, it is, they are waiting just beyond where her wards end.

Which means they knew she put them up. 

Silently, she stands and walks towards where their visitor waits. At first she sees nothing, just the woods and trees. Then part of a tree separates from itself, walking towards her. Her hands are up, disarming part of the wards at once, worry etching itself into her face as she hurries forward.

Jaskier is limping and, by the time she reaches him, he’s slumped over on his knees. She kneels next to him, checking for wounds and finding a gash in his side. Yennefer whispers a word and a soft glow surrounds them.

In his dryad form, Jaskier is all vines, his skin having turned a spring green. Before, he’d been in bloom, covered in flowers. Now, only a few remain. Summer is close and the withering has almost faded. The wound in his side is a deep puncture.

“What happened?” She asked, already laying hands on the wound.

“Poachers,” he hisses as she touches him. “Their bows were barbed.”

“Bastards.” She clenches her teeth as she works. Slowly, the wound stitches itself together. She feels the sweat on her brow but ignores it until the wound is fully healed. “We need to get you some water, some food.” She starts to help him stand.

“No,” he grabs her wrist. “I can’t, Yen. I told you before, he can’t see me like this.”

“That was before some men who think they have a right to every beautiful thing decided to put an arrow in you. The wound is closed but you need rest. You need the fire and some water.”

Jaskier shakes his head but it is a weak thing. “I’m fine. I just need to--” He tries to stand up and proceeds to pass out. Yennefer sighs, gathering him up. He weighs less than she thought.

“You’ll thank me for this later, bard.” She starts to drag him back towards camp. In truth, he will probably hate her for this, whatever thin threads of friendship they knit together through their shared secrets all in taters once he wakes. But she’d rather he be angry with her than dead.

By the time she’s dragged him to the fire, the others are awake. She’s been unable to get him there quietly, even though he’s lighter than he should be, he still weighs her down.

Geralt, seeing Yennefer walk in with what appears at first glance to be a blooded random dryad, walks over to take the bundle from her. She watches him lay Jaskier by the fire and so sees his face the moment recognition hits. He blinks before turning his head towards her.

“What is this?” he asks.

“Poachers,” she says, not answering what he’s really asking. She moves to kneel next to Jaskier. Her eyes find Ciri, who is hovering, birdlike, on the other side of the campfire. “Fetch some water, darling, please.”

Ciri nods and is off.

“Yennefer,” Geralt says in a dangerously low voice. “What is this?”

“It is Jaskier,” she whispers the words but they come out half hiss. She looks up, glaring at Geralt. “It is no trick, it is no curse, it is who he is. I suggest you get comfortable with the idea before he wakes.”

“But how--- When--”

“It is how he has always been. Dryad magic prevents you from thinking too hard about certain aspects of their behavior. You didn’t see because you couldn’t see. But you do now, so it is time to get on board or get off the dock.”

Geralt appears to want to say more but Ciri is back, kneeling next to Yennefer to help get the water down Geralt’s throat.

“Is he going to be alright?” Ciri asks, looking worriedly between the two.

“Of course,” Yennefer reassures. “I already patched up the wound, he just needs rest. And he’ll need lots of food when he wakes up. Ciri, will you get any fruit we have? Dryads don’t eat meat.”

She nods but hesitates by Jaskier’s side. “I didn’t know he was a dryad.” There is no judgement in her tone, only wonder. Yennefer loves her for it. “I’ve never seen one up close.” She reaches out with careful fingers to move some of Jaskier’s hair from his face. “He’s lovely.”

Yennefer looks at Geralt but he is looking down and the shadows of the fire keep his expression secret.

“He is,” Yennefer says.

Later, Ciri is tucked back into bed. She insists on pushing hers next to the one they set up for Jaskier. Yennefer sits by the fire with Geralt, both of them too awake to sleep.Yennefer watches the slow, steady rise and fall of Jaskier’s breath.

“How long have you known?” Geralt asks when the silence has stretched on and the light is beginning to become the pale blue of early morning.

“Since last spring,” Yennefer answers. “His wither came early. You remember he left in the middle of the night. I caught him before he did.”

“More than a year.” He huffs, pushing a hand through his hair. “You’ve known more than a year, and you didn’t tell me.”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell.”

“I cannot believe you would think me so heartless. I don’t kill dryads, Yennefer, you know this. I would never have hunted him down like those poachers. You could have told me. He could have told me.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes and turns her whole head with the motion of it. “Are you really that daft? Why wouldn’t he want to tell you about this, Geralt? It can’t possibly be because you’ve shown a massive lack of respect for Jaskier over the years, can it? Or maybe the fact that you have put an end to every creature or man that has ever posed a threat to Ciri?”

“Jaskier isn’t a threat to Ciri.”

“No, but there were poachers in the woods looking for him. What if he’d been in this state with us when the poachers found him? Would you have been understanding when men with barbed arrows arrived in our camp or would you have blamed him for putting her in danger, the same way you blame him for everything?”

Silence, the crackling of the fire, the call of early morning birds. It has been years since Yennefer has blown up like that at Geralt. She hasn’t realized how much some of those words have been building. But it is too late now. The words hang between them and Yennefer will not take back truth once it is spoken.

Instead, she stands. “I’m going to look for more food for him in the forest.” She doesn’t give Geralt a chance to reply before she’s gathering a cloth to hold fruit in and heading into the woods.

The sky is still barely lit so Yennefer gives herself a small glowing light to guide her way. She finds a few berries and some edible plants and mushrooms but the wood isn’t deep enough to provide much in the way of food. Still, put together it should be enough combined with what they have to get Jaskier healthy enough. The next town isn’t too far off and they need to replenish their supplies anyway.

She doesn’t know what tips her off. She is far away from their campsite wards for it to be that. But the hairs on the back of her arms rise, a shiver rolls down her spine. She turns, lifting a hand in the air. A foot away from her the barbed arrow hangs suspended. She snarls, says a word, and the arrow spins and flies back to where it came from. Yennefer hears a pained cry and sees a body fall from behind the cover of a tree.

There are half a dozen of them not counting the one bleeding out from his own arrow. They carried bows as well as hunting knives made of iron. Poachers. Yennefer feels her lips part, showing off her teeth. These must be the ones who hurt Jaskier.

Yennefer has no mercy for these men who hunt rare creatures for sport and profit. She is ruthless in her magic, throwing them so hard their necks snap. One she has the dirt swallow up completely, crushing him. When another runs, she throws one of their own hunting knives at them. When she’s finished, the area is littered with dead poachers. Yennefer breathes hard, bends down, picks up her gathered fruits of the forest, and returns to camp.

She must have gotten some of their blood on her because Ciri, awake now, makes a startled sound when she approaches. The sun has risen enough to see clearly by. “I’m alright,” she assures, accepting Ciri’s hug.

“What happened?” Geralt asks.

“The poachers,” she says. “They must have followed--”

She stops, looking at Geralt and then at Jaskier. She can see him making calculations. Yennefer curses herself inwardly. This was exactly why Jaskier hadn’t wanted Geralt to know. She wants to talk to him, wants to firm up what exactly he plans on doing now that he knows. 

But at that moment, Jaskier wakes up.


	3. Bloom

They don’t talk about it which is far worse than Geralt shouting or throwing Jaskier out on the spot. The morning after the poachers, Yennefer tends to Jaskier with the help of Ciri, makes sure he eats and drinks and is well enough to stand on his own. Geralt, meanwhile, has gone out to collect Borsey, whom the poachers had taken and tied up further into the woods. Jaskier tries to say something to him before he walks away but Geralt doesn’t respond to Jaskier saying his name. Yennefer wants to slap him at the dejected look on Jaskier’s face.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him softly so that Ciri, busy packing up their bedrolls, can’t hear them. “But the poachers were still out there. If I hadn’t brought you back--”

“You saved my life, Yennefer.” He looks up at her, reaches out, and puts a hand over hers. “You didn’t have to, but you did. I won’t forget it.”

Oh. So this is what friendship feels like, untainted with complicated romantic feelings or a history of betrayal. She squeezes his hand. “I won’t let him toss you away.” She doesn’t say ‘again’ but she can tell by the look in his eyes that they are both thinking it. 

“It’s alright, Yen.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “It was always going to happen, one way or another.”

Yennefer frowns. She doesn’t agree, and she’s willing to fight Geralt if it comes to that. She’s already composed several very valid arguments for why they should keep Jaskier around. For starters, despite what happened last night, dryads are very good at protecting themselves. Yennefer might even be able to teach him some magic; it is not uncommon for dryads to have talent. Plus, they know every forest they enter as soon as their foot touches the earth, so moving through them would become simple. They might even be able to avoid roads most of the time. That would certainly help keep Ciri safe. 

Yet even as she plots these arguments, she isn’t so sure they are going to work on Geralt. The man is stubborn and prone to distrust. The truth is, she has no idea what to expect when he returns.

What she never would have expected was for Geralt to return on Borsey, check on Jaskier with a simple grunt, and then ignore the situation entirely while they made up camp. It becomes clear that he has no intention of talking about this as the last of the bags are packed onto the horses, and he climbs atop Roach.

Jaskier seems to be holding his breath even as Yennefer helps him onto Borsey.

Ciri speaks first. “You’ll be coming with us now, won’t you, Jaskier?”

Yennefer watches Geralt as Jaskier speaks. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, little cat.”

“Of course it is,” Ciri insists. “You were attacked last night. Who knows if other people might still be out there looking for you! No, it isn’t safe, you’ll come with us. Right, Geralt?” She looks at him, waiting for him to back her up. Yennefer can feel Jaskier holding his breath.

Geralt looks at Jaskier, taking in his green hue, the vines that are mostly flowerless but still not human. “How much longer until your wither is over?” he asks.

Jaskier shrugs, looking down at his hands. “A few days, maybe a week at the most. It’s already just about summer anyway.”

“Hmm.” Geralt sets his jaw before looking away. “It’s not safe in the city for a dryad when they can’t put on their human disguise.”

Fuck.

Before Yennefer can speak, Ciri says, “But, Geralt… It’s Jaskier.”

A simple argument that perfectly boils down everything Yennefer was going to say anyway. But Geralt still doesn’t look up. “It’s not safe in the city.” Next to her, Yennefer feels Jaskier sinking into himself. “We’ll just have to avoid any cities until Jaskier can control himself. Might be best to avoid the main roads, as well. Jaskier, you can tell instinctively how to get to the next city as long as we are in the forest, yes?”

“I--” Jaskier looks as shocked as Yennefer feels. “Yes, I can.”

“Good, then you’ll have to be our guide. Yennefer, ride up front with him. You seemed to have a good handle on the poachers last time, stick with him in case they show up. I’ll take the rear.”

So they’re off, not speaking of it anymore. This is honestly more than Yennefer feared they would get out of Geralt. She is somewhat afraid that once Jaskier is well enough and human enough Geralt may still cut his losses. That is an argument she will just have to win when the time comes.

Ciri is delighted to have Jaskier back and spends much of the day asking him questions about being a dryad. He presses a hand to a tree as they pass it, showing her the way his skin perfectly camouflages into the bark. When they stop for a meal, she is delighted by his ability to make flowers bloom, and they braid the buttercups into each other's hair.

It has always been this way between them, this easy friendship. Ciri adores Jaskier, his music, his jokes; everything he does enchants her. Yennefer isn’t convinced her fondness for him isn’t why Geralt let him come along in the first place. Yennefer has been carefully watching Geralt, the set of his jaw, the stiffness of his back. He looks like a man bracing for something. Yennefer isn’t sure she is going to like what that something turns out to be. 

Still, they do not talk about it. Ciri asks her questions, exclaiming over each new trick that Jaskier shows her, but Geralt says not one single word. He may as well be a tree for all he is contributing to a conversation, except the current tree is doing much more talking. Yennefer wishes he’d do something, give some indication on how this is going to play out because the tension is absolutely killing her.

Eventually, they stop for the night. Jaskier tells them they are half a day’s ride from town, and he is already looking more human. His wither will be gone in a matter of days if not tomorrow morning. Sooner than he’d said initially. Yennefer is sure that was on purpose, a way of giving Geralt an out in front of Ciri.

They make dinner, Jaskier eating very little.

Yennefer forces some more food on his plate. “You lost a lot of blood yesterday,” she says. “Eat. We can’t have you passing out again.”

He gives her a small smile, eating slowly, anxiously. After a time, Geralt stands. “I’ll go refill the water. I hear a stream not far off.”

“I’ll go with you,” Yennefer doesn’t give him an option of saying no. She’s already got the canteens ready. “Ciri, keep an eye on Jaskier.”

Ciri gives a solemn nod. Yennefer follows Geralt towards the river, waiting until they are out of earshot before she begins talking. “What are you going to do here, Geralt?”

“Fill up the canteens,” Geralt says, kneeling at the riverbed. 

Yennefer slaps him upside the head.

“Ow,” he says though it clearly doesn’t hurt.

“You know full well I mean what are you going to do about Jaskier. Are you planning on sending him away again once he is able to control his appearance? Are you planning on leaving him in the village without telling him or are you going to do it like a man? And what exactly do you plan on telling Ciri, you know she loves Jaskier, this will break her heart.”

Geralt sighs. “Seems like you already know what I’m going to do, so why are we having this conversation, Yen?”

She puts her hands firmly on her hips. “I am not letting you break that little lark’s heart again!”

Anger flashes over Geralt’s face. He stands, glaring down at her.

Yennefer lifts her chin, ready for a fight.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know what you said to him on the mountain. I know you pushed him away even though he’s completely in love with you. Yes, Geralt, in love with you! Why else would he follow you around after everything you’ve put him through? And you’d toss him out like meat gone to rot. I know you say you’re heartless but I never actually believed it until now.”

He sucks in a breath, and she pulls in some power, ready to strike if he so much as lifts a hand against her. Not that he has ever hit her before but there is a lot she doesn’t seem to know about him.

Only he doesn’t hit her. Some of the anger dies on his face. He shakes his head, taking a step back. “You know nothing of what I am, Yennefer.”

He bends down and finishes filling the canteens in silence.

Yennefer feels tears pricking the back of her eyes. She pushes them aside, saying nothing more to Geralt as they make their way back to camp.

The night feels tense to her, watching Jaskier throwing glances at Geralt, watching Geralt stare fixedly into the fire. Even Ciri seems to be picking up the energy around the camp. She keeps looking expectantly at Geralt, like there’s something she knows he needs to say but is willfully silent about.

Eventually, Yennefer sets up the usual wards, and they all crawl into their bedrolls for the night.

Yennefer finds sleep difficult on the best of nights but that night moreso. Her anxious energy keeps her tossing and turning until her body finally gives in.

Her dreams are foggy and dizzying. She wakes in the darkest part of the morning. Her eyes find Ciri’s, lying next to her, her eyes wide open. She presses a finger to her lips as Yennerfer’s eyes meet hers and only then does she hear Geralt’s voice.

“You could have told me,” Geralt is saying.

Jaskier’s laugh is soft and bitter. “When would I have told you, Geralt? You never seemed that interested in knowing about me.”

“Hmm.” There is silence, the wood holding its breath waiting for Geralt’s next words. “Jaskier. Yennefer thinks… she implied you are afraid that I’ll send you away now.”

Yennefer can see Ciri’s eyes widen, her own lips pressinginto a line.

“I’d understand,” Jaskier says. “I know that my part here… I know it has held on through a very thin rope. I knew it would snap eventually. I had hoped it wouldn’t be over this.”

“Jaskier. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, you have to protect Ciri. I’m a liability, I have always known that.”

“I’m sorry I made you think I cared so little for you that I would toss you aside like that.”

Ciri claps a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound she might have made. Yennefer’s eyebrows have shot right up.

“Geralt?” It’s half a question, half hope easily shattered. There is the sound of shifting, someone moving closer to another.

“I never apologized for what I said on that mountain. I should have, long ago. What I said--Jaskier. I didn’t want your sympathy or loyalty, I didn’t think I deserved it. I know I don’t. But you are so important to me, Jaskier. And when I saw you, bleeding there, realizing I’d missed something so important about you...” He pauses here and there are sounds that Yennefer can’t make sense out of. She wishes she could see but also knows this is a private moment.

What she can hear is the way Jaskier’s breath hitches. She wonders if Geralt is touching him now. “Geralt,” there is more hope than fear in his voice. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt’s voice is a whisper, just barely loud enough for Yennefer to hear. “Forgive me?”

“Always,” Jaskier says. “Geralt you know I--”

“I do.”

“Do-- Does this mean---Do you?”

“I do.” 

“Geralt--”

Yennefer shifts, slowly turning in her bedroll so as not to alert the two men. The fire is low, casting both of them in shadow. Still, she sees Geralt leaning down and pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s lips. She turns back around, just as slowly, trying and failing at keeping her smile down.

She mouths at Ciri, “Go to sleep.”

In the morning, Jaskier is all smiles. Some of his blooms have even come back, mostly in his hair. He practically skips as he eats breakfast and packs up for the day. Geralt is lighter, too, ruffling Ciri’s hair and kissing Yennefer on the cheek. Every so often, the two look at each other and share a secret smile.

“They don’t know we know yet,” Ciri giggles into Yennefer’s ear.

Their little family takes off into the woods to find what lays in wait for them. Jaskier leads, singing sweetly as he goes. The whole woods sing along with him.

**Author's Note:**

> When I was working on this fic, I asked my friends what Jaskier's horse should be named. They all said it should be named Borsey, short for Big Horsey. This is why you don't let your friends name your fictional horses, folks.


End file.
